When Things go Awry
by Pancharliida
Summary: When the Doctor and Clara are contacted by one of Clara's echoes, they are thrown into a situation that they could have never expected.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She would not be one of them.

One of those same-faced girls living pointless lives just to die for one person, one man with a fake name and many, many faces.

 _No. Not me._

She would not be one of them, forgotten under layers of dirt or crumbled into dust. She knew what she was, knew who she looked like, who she was supposed to die for. She was an echo, but she had to make herself more than that. Her identity was nobody's but her own.

Amongst the crumbling walls of her home, she raised the camera parallel to her face, lamplight highlighting the scars on the pixilated version of herself.

"My name is Clarina Oswin, and this is a message for the Doctor."

* * *

A/N: First story, first time here, this part is quite short but there's more to come. I don't own anything, if I did many things would be different.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"So, where are we-"

Clara trailed off as she entered the TARDIS to find it seemingly deserted, and stopped short at the image on the screen attached to the console.

It was her.

Her, but not her.

Her, with greasy chin length hair.

Her, with scars across her face, one hand in her hair and a look that could only be described as fear. There is blood sprayed across one pale cheek.

"Doctor?"

He wasn't near, unaware of the soft uttering of his name passing her lips. She stepped forward slowly, one step after another, pausing in front of the screen.

"Restart video."

And she was moving. The screen lifting to face-level, as the echo sat in the half-light that cast shadows across the ridges of her scars.

"My name is Clarina Oswin, and this is a message for the Doctor," she stops, takes a deep breath as her shoulders slump like the weight of the world is on her narrow shoulders. She's skinnier than Clara by far, cheeks hollow and shadows under her eyes. "I know you know who I am- well, who I look like. One of those echoes running around unknowingly waiting for you to turn up so they can sacrifice themselves for you without even a clue as to why. But I'm different. I know exactly what I am. I've known for a while. And I don't want to be just a bullet shield for you, no matter how important you are. But there are bigger problems than just me and the complexity of time. My planet is dying. And I need your help."

The video stops, the echo one again frozen with a hand in her hair. Clara was still staring at it when the Doctor arrived from whatever depth of the TARDIS he had confined himself too.

"Clara?"

"Who is she?"

"I assume you watched it."

"A name doesn't tell you anything, Doctor, it doesn't make up what a person is. I'm guessing you've already learned everything up to the name of her pet hamster," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Clarina Oswin, born 2446. At the time of the video, she's twenty-three years old, living here," the echo's face is replaced by a planet not to dissimilar to Earth. "Meska, colonised in 2413. Clarina's parents were among the first humans on there. She has- had- a brother, and a niece. In 2469, it's in the middle of a ward with the natives, the Skavek. In less than six months, the planet is destroyed by the royal family. They all die."

"But we can save her. One person on one planet, no one will know. She's not just anyone, Doctor. She's me."

"She's not you. She's a _shadow_ of you."

"But she's self-aware. She knows what happens to the echoes, knows meeting you could be the end of her. So why ask for help? What could be so important?" he looks at her for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh, moving over to the console, flicking switches and twisting dials, before his hand rests on a lever.

"Clara Oswald, you are a crafty one."

They arrive to find the planet burning, buildings crumbling and bodies strewn around, but no sign of life.

"It's peace day, roughly translated," the Doctor says quietly. "The natives celebrate their gods, the colonists have their Christmas, or whatever else it may be they celebrate. It's been two weeks since Clarina recorded the video."

"Think she's still alive?"

"Either way she'll be in this five mile radius."

"That's still a lot of ground to-"

"Doctor."

Her voice, but not quite, a slight accent lilting his name. Clara turns to find a gun pointed in her face, and the Doctor lets out an immediate sigh at the sight of it.

"Clara."

It's strange, hearing her name from lips the same as her own but with such unfamiliarity, strange seeing a face the same. Much like when Saibra copied her through a single touch.

Except this copy, this echo of her, is worn down, scarred and bruised and bloody, smaller in stature due to the troubles of war. She wears a cloak over leggings and boots, hiding her body shape to the point where Clara almost doesn't notice.

Almost.

Clarina is pregnant.

The girl sees the way Clara's eyes flicked to her stomach, moving the fabric over her but it only makes the shape of her belly more prominent. This was why she had wanted their help. Not for her. For her baby.

"I knew you'd come. Never could just pass by a mystery. It'd be like walking past a fez," the Doctor tilts his head at her words. "Even on this day the peace between us is fragile, we shouldn't be outside for long," she turns on her heel and moves away fluidly, steps over the rubble of broken homes with as much grace as she can with a baby weighing her down, giving no choice for the Doctor and Clara but to follow her. It doesn't take them long to reach their destination; a half-caved in house a few streets away, the front door barely intact but Clarina still rummages for a key, sliding it into the lock and pushing the door open before she walks inside without a glance back. Clara stops short, looking at the Doctor with a nervousness she can't explain- who can explain a situation like this? Meeting someone who was you, but not you. The same face, but a different story.

"Are you coming or what?" that voice again. So much like hers, like the voice she hears when she talks to herself in the mirror, tells herself _she can do this, she's in control._

She can't do this.

Then a long-fingered hand slides into her own, warm and reassuring, and before she even knows it he is pulling her through the doorway, and they are plunged into darkness.

Clarina appears again in a flicker of candlelight, skin almost glowing and golden flecks in her eyes. Clara can only watch for so long as she lights each individual candle, and walks over to take an already-lit candle, moving on to light the others until the room is flooded in light.

There are dozens upon dozens of candles, almost a hundred, of many shapes and sizes and colours, a mixture of different scents flooding the room, making Clara's head swim slightly.

"It's more difficult to get candles here. The oxygen has always been a little... off. Makes it more difficult for the sick, like those with asthma, cystic fibrosis, stuff like that. So the way they make them, it makes you feel a little... off. Until you get used to it," she turns, leaning against a table where there is a gap in the mass of candles. She is surrounded by harsh orange light, illuminating her scars but also the colour of her eyes, the curve of her nose and the slant of her cheekbones. After silence that seems to go on for more time than is accountable, the girl lets out a sigh, arching an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well what?" the Doctor is all eyebrows and scowls. "You called us here. Clever of you, using the temptation of adventure against me. You get that from her," he nudges Clara, who barely responds at all, just staring. Staring at Clarina, at her scars, at her pain, and worrying over the fact that it is her face that carries it.

"Well who else would I get it from?" one of her hands absently strays to her swollen stomach. "So, are you going to help or what?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, I didn't just call you so you'd curb your curiosity about me. My planet is dying. Save it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Time-"

"Don't you dare tell me about time. You-" she points a finger, nails jagged and dirty, at the Doctor, eyes suddenly burning with suppressed rage. "Have broken the rules so many times, to save those you care about, to save people. Why not save my people? Everyone's important."

"I don't break the rules anymore."

"Such a liar. Rule number one. The Doctor lies," she is angry. Filled with the fear and the horror and the pain of someone who has lost so much, someone who can do nothing but watch as the world crumbles to pieces. Why would she not react this way, when she asks for help and the person who she thinks will do just that says the one thing she doesn't expect. _No._ "You think I don't know what you've done? You act all high and mighty but you save those who aren't supposed to be saved, who aren't supposed to make it and who are supposed to burn just like all the others. So save them. Save _me."_

"I can't."

"Then why did you come?" he doesn't answer, doesn't say a word, just looks at her with stormy eyes. "Why? You tell me why Doctor, or I swear to God-"

"What? You'll what?" she doesn't respond. She doesn't have time to.

Because that's when the building falls apart.

* * *

Chapter one complete! Took forever, not sure if it's any good, but there it is. Once again, don't own a thing.


End file.
